The Cat's Meow
by Hagzissa
Summary: When Cas is hurt, Dean is his refuge. / Slightly angsty Destiel fluff. Set in Season 6 before Cas's betrayel is revealed. Mild slash. Hopefully not too OOC.


**Author's note: When I wrote this, I didn't know about Cas' deal with Crowley, so the initial situation might be a little illogical. But I hope you like it anyway. Have fun.**

It was nearly 8pm and Dean was alone. Sam was out tonight, doing whatever he was doing now that he was as soulless as a rock. He had gone to a nearby bar. Usually, Dean would be in the bar now, too; drinking too much, hitting on some chick, hoping that his good looks would compensate the smell of alcohol on his breath.

But nothing was usual since Sam had come back from hell. Dean detested his presence. The way he had looked at that waitress this afternoon… almost like a predator observing its prey.

He didn't want to think about Sam. He opened another beer, wishing he had bought something stronger, something that would make the fear go away. He'd tried anything to relax, taking a shower, watching TV, browsing the internet for porn – but he couldn't focus. There was no reaction to the images. He only saw blurred figures moving and making absurd noises. Meaningless. He felt so empty – as if not only Sam's soul had been left behind, but a part of his own, too. He had closed his laptop and started staring out of the window. The sky had turned a sickening shade of pink. He wondered whether there was a chance that he would be able to sleep when he took a sleeping pill.

He wished there was someone to discuss his situation with; he wished the Sam he knew were here.

A sudden sound made him jump to his feet. It sounded like the fluttering of wings…

He turned around to see what had caused it, almost knocking over his chair. It was Cas. Of course it was Cas, who else made an entrance like that, appearing out of thin air like a goddamn Starfleet member?! The angel stood right in front of the door of their room, his face covered in mud, his trench coat soaking wet, blood all over his hands. The angel blade, he'd been clutching with his right hand, fell on the ground with a clang.

"Dean," Cas breathed before collapsing.

"Cas!" Dean yelled in terror, hurrying over where the angel was standing, just in time to prevent him from hitting the floor.

Unable to support the man's weight, though, he slowly put him to the ground.

"Cas, what's wrong?" he questioned.

The angel had closed his eyes, breathing flatly, his fingers shaking slightly. Something was terribly wrong. He had never seen Cas this weak! All worries he'd been having about Sam were wiped from his mind.

"I was attacked," Cas murmured with effort, "Raphael's people. I escaped. I'm weakened. I didn't know anywhere else to go."

"It's okay, it's okay," Dean reassured him. "Can you sit?"

Cas nodded feebly in response. Putting on arm around his shoulders, Dean lifted him up. He was kneeling beside Cas; the angel's head lolled against his shoulder.

"Are you wounded?" Dean wanted to know, examining Cas.

Was it his blood?

"My vessel is undamaged."

Cas' voice was merely a whisper.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You're only human, Dean."

"Well, I guess that's what I am," Dean replied a little harsh.

He didn't know why he was offended by Cas' words. Yes, he was _only _human, but the angel wasn't really in the position to scoff at humanity. He was, as it seemed, completely at Dean's mercy.

"Dean?"

The hunter couldn't see Cas' face, but when he was talking, his breath brushing against Dean's cheek, it sounded earnest. "I really do appreciate that you offered help. I'm glad I made it here."

"Guess you're welcome," Dean replied awkwardly.

There was a moment of silence where they could hear the clock on the wall ticking and the cars rushing by on the nearby motorway.

"Alright, you should get rid of those clothes," Dean stated and, realizing what he just said, added: "I mean to take a shower! Man, that sounded _weird_…"

Dean helped Cas to get up. The whole scenario reminded him of a day nearly half a year ago. Ben had had an accident during baseball training; he, too, had been covered in dirt and he had also been clinging on Dean's shoulder for support. They swayed toward the bathroom, leaving a trace of dirty footprints on the hideous orange carpet. Dean placed Cas on top of the toilet lid. Gingerly he started to strip off the angel's trench coat and his suit's jacket and opened his shoe laces. Cas stayed immobile. He followed Dean's movement with his eyes in an almost lazy fashion.

"You know, I've never undressed a man," Dean remarked with a kind of nervous chuckle.

He didn't know why he had said that, it hadn't been necessary. He supposed that he had intended to make Cas laugh; but of course it didn't work. The angel kept a straight face. He unbuttoned Cas' shirt with practiced fingers. A fleeting memory of some girl came to his mind. He hadn't picked someone up for a while, with Lis and all the mess thereafter. He smiled. That the first person he should unclothe was Cas, wasn't really what he had been expecting.

He stripped the shirt off completely, letting it fall down to the floor. He had never seen Cas naked. He hadn't even seen him without his vessel's silly trench coat! He looked different now; not at all like the tax accountant. He looked a lot younger. One could nearly forget that he could kill you in less than a second or zap you up to 15th century Himalaya in no time. Well, usually. But not this day.

Cas hands were folded in his lap, his shoulders hanging.

"Um," Dean shifted around nervously, avoiding to look at Cas directly, "Can you finalize yourself?"

Cas stood up cautiously and started to fumble on his belt. Dean stood there for a moment, paralyzed. What would happen if he would just stand there?

"I'm gonna fetch you some dry clothes," he uttered hastily and swiftly left the room.

He rummaged through his and Sam's bags, looking for something laundered. Eventually he found a pair of boxers and a gray shirt of his that looked like it could fit the angel. He returned to the bathroom, hesitating in the doorway. He wasn't sure how to feel about Cas' nakedness. He told himself that they were both men and that he knew Cas for quite a long time now and that Cas didn't mind. There was no need to feel uncomfortable.

When he entered, he couldn't see Cas at first. Dean nearly sighed in relief. Cas, he figured, was standing in the shower behind a curtain displaying multi-colored rubber ducks.

"I'm just gonna leave them here, alright?" Dean said, depositing the clothes in the sink.

There was no reply.

"Cas, you okay?"

He put the curtain a little aside. Cas was looking at him with a half desperate, half apologetic expression.

"I can't operate a shower," he admitted, sounding ashamed.

Dean couldn't help but laugh. There stood Castiel, mighty Angel of the Lord, as God created him, despairing over a water-tap! The awkwardness had vanished. This was just _so_ absurd. He smiled at the angel fondly. _What a dork_, he said to himself, then he doffed his socks. He got into the shower, took the shower head off his holder and switched the water on. It was ice-cold.

"Give me your hands," Dean commanded softly.

The angel held out his hands, crimson on some spots and ruby colored where the blood had dried. Dean scrubbed them a little with one hand, the shower head in the other. Slowly the blood went off, dirtying the water beneath their feet. When the water was lukewarm, Dean said: "You need to close your eyes. Getting rid of that dirt."

Cas obeyed without hesitation. Dean marveled at this sight. It was a precious sign of trust from Cas and he could feel his eyes watering. He blinked them away angrily. Who was he? A high school girl who's crush had just smiled at her? He was a freaking hunter!

He diminished the water jet's pressure, so that it wouldn't hurt Cas and started washing his face. He stroked Cas' stubby cheeks, almost caressed his temples, his forehead, his eyelids.

"Could you bow a little?" he asked.

The angel did as he was told. Dean ran his fingers through the short ebony hair until it was clean.

"I'm done," Dean declared.

Cas thanked him, briefly touching his cheek. Dean shivered at the touch. He looked down on his feet, realizing that the seam of his jeans was soaking wet. He cursed automatically under his breath, without being actually sour. He put the shower head back on the holder, letting the water flow on. He stepped out of the shower.

"You can stay inside for a while, if you want to. Just turn that tap down when you're done. There's a towel over there and some clothes."

He left the bathroom and started undressing himself. Not only his pants had gone wet, but his plaid shirt, too. He searched for a shirt that was clean and dry, but it seemed like he had given Cas the shirt off his back – well, not literally. He sighed. He'd have to take one of Sam's. Brilliant. Now he would look like a dwarf wearing men's clothes.

In the end he found a dark hoodie that turned out to be incredibly comfy. He scanned the piles of clothes scattered on the floor for his phone. He found it eventually in one of the pockets of his dad's leather jacket.

He searched for Sam's number.

It took ages until Sam picked up.

"Yeah?" was the only thing Sam said.

"You're not coming back soon, are you?" Dean asked.

"Not in the next couple hours."

Dean could hear a muffled woman's voice. "Who's that?"

"No-one," Sam replied and hung up.

"No-one…," Dean repeated in disbelief, "Oh, screw this."

When Cas entered the room, his hair was ruffled; he still looked pale, but less faint. Dean was relieved to see Cas was recovering. His clothes fit him well, although the shirt was a bit loose around the chest.

"Come on, sit with me," Dean said. He sat on his bed, a large, king-sized one. Sam didn't have a bed, as he didn't sleep, so Dean thought he could treat himself with some extra space.

Cas perched himself onto the bed, invading, as always, Dean's personal space. Their shoulders were only inches apart; but Dean didn't have the heart to tell him off for it. He cleared his throat and grabbed the remote, switching on the TV screen on the other side of the room. There was nothing on that interested Dean, but he stopped zapping after a while. The channel showed a rerun of old episodes of _Gilmore Girls_.

"Does that guy look familiar to you?" Cas inquired after some time, "And why are they drinking so much coffee?"

"I've no idea," Dean replied, barely suppressing a yawn.

He needed sleep! At first he had sat with his back against the bed-head, but now he was half lying. Their legs were both covered by one of these piteous motel blankets. Dean could feel Cas' legs located beside his. He could feel the warmth Cas was emitting. The angel had closed his eyes, whether because he was weary or because he wanted to imitate humans, Dean did not know. He seemed to be at peace. Dean observed Cas' dimpled face fondly and without deciding consciously that he wanted to do it, he caressed the angel's cheek with his thumb. It was a natural thing to do, really; he had done it a thousand times while he had been sitting on the couch with Lisa. Cas responded to the touch by slightly moving toward Dean, placing his head between clavicle and neck. Dean could hear his blood pumping through his veins and Cas' shallow breath against his chest. He, too, closed his eyes; huddled his face against Cas' hair, gently placing a kiss in it.

He absorbed the smell of his hair. Cas didn't smell like the women Dean had slept with; he wondered if it was because Cas was a man or if it was related to his celestial origin. Now that he thought of it, it seemed likely – the smell, somehow less earthy than the human scent, reminded him of Anna. Anna, the angelic Anna, with her fierce brown eyes and flaming red hair… That was when he had first tasted from the angel cake. That was of course before she had planned to kill his brother.

As appealing as the memory of their night on the backseat of the Impala might was, Dean shoved it aside. He wanted to stay focused on the present, which was really odd because only an hour ago he had wished so desperately to escape the situation. But there laid Cas, huddled against him, and it felt so good.

Cas reacted to the peck by humming pleased. He stretched out an arm across his chest, pulling Dean closer, as if to say '_You're mine and I'll never let you go_.' Dean laid an arm around Cas, too. They persevered in a tight embrace for what felt like forever. Dean's fingers were tracing up and down Cas' spine, sensing each and every vertebra. He could feel the angel cringe under his touch, becoming a little tense the closer his fingers came Cas' butt. After a while Cas moved his right hand that had rested on the hunter's shoulder. He fished for Dean's hand. When he found it he squeezed it gently and led it up to his face, so the hands were cupped around his cheeks. Dean lifted up Cas' chin. He had reopened his eyes, needed to focus now – the angel's face was so close. Cas' eyes were wide open, his brows slightly frowned. Dean wondered what they were expressing. Was it curiosity that sparkled in these two eyes of midnight blue?

"I've seen humans do this," Cas declared, his voice somewhat proud.

He was tilting his head slightly so that his skin was brushing against Dean's palms.

"Are you sure you don't mean cats?" Dean said jokingly, smiling broadly.

"Yes, I'm certain that I don't mean cats," Cas replied bemused.

"Either way, you certainly are the cat's meow…"

And with these words Dean leaned in; their lips clashed together like waves, converging into one. The kiss was sweet and innocent like their cuddling had been before. Their lips were moving in an almost steady rhythm, Cas' chapped ones on Dean's smooth ones. Castiel positioned himself on top of Dean, his hand buried into the hunter's short stubby hair.

Cas' lips became more demanding. Their noses were touching, faces as close as possible. Cas' kisses were passionate, but deep and profound rather than agitated and messy.

Dean stirred beneath the angel, lifting his hips so he was closer to Cas, wrapping his arms around him so he was closer to Cas. Legs twisted, feet touching, backs arching. Closer, closer, closer.

They rolled over, the back of Cas' head was now pressed into the pillows. It was Dean who opened up his mouth first, letting his tongue glide into Cas' mouth. The tips of their tongues touched, creating a tickling sensation. Dean let his tongue go further, sliding on the plain side of Cas' tongue.

After some time, Dean retreated slowly. He inhaled deeply and panting slightly, he uttered: "Wow, Cas!"

The angel grinned, looking slightly abashed. Dean grinned back.

"Where did you learn how to make out?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about it…," Cas answered, looking innocent, but there was a sparkle in his dark blue eyes.

"You are joking," Dean stated in awe, "You are actually joking!"

"So?"

Dean laughed, glutting sweet kisses all over Cas' face; on his eyebrows, lids, cheeks, his nose. Cas' let out noises that were close to giggling. Dean's lips wandered down Cas' neck, revering every single spot of the skin. When Dean reached Cas' collarbone, the angel sighed in joy.

"You like that?" Dean asked.

"I like that," Cas' replied dully.

"Good…"

Dean continued to kiss every inch of skin he could reach, while Cas stroked his hair absentminded.

"Dean."

"Hm-hm," was all Dean responded. He didn't look up, too consumed in the action of pulling up Cas' shirt.

"Dean Winchester!" Cas called.

He didn't raise his voice, but his tone was different. For a moment he sounded like the army leader, he was. Dean ceased his efforts immediately, looking up to the angel. Cas pulled him upwards to a kiss full of affection and tenderness. They both had their eyes closed. Cas brows were furrowed, he wore an almost painful expression, that would have made Dean thoughtful.

But Dean didn't see it; he snuggled up on Cas' neck, absorbing the celestial scent. Their breaths were in sync. Cas' lips lingered on Dean's forehead, gently brushing a kiss on it every so often. A leg was sprawled possessively over Dean.

"Thank you, Dean," Cas said quietly.

"A friend in need is a friend indeed," Dean cited with a crooked smile.

Cas didn't smile back. He just stared into the Winchester's eyes as if x-raying him.

"Is that what I am?" he questioned "Your friend?"

"Yes, Cas, we are friends. I am your friend," Dean said seriously.

Cas hugged him tighter. He leaned his forehead against Dean's.

"I will always watch over you, Dean. I promise…," he paused for a moment, "And I'm sorry. I'm so so very sorry."

"You are sorry? Cas, what d'you -"

But there was the rustling sound of wings again and Dean was alone.

His arms were wrapped around thin air. He could still feel the warmth on the spots were they had touched, Cas smell still lingered in the air; but he was not there anymore, he had left.

"Cas?" Dean cried "CAS!"

There was no reply. Dean lay there motionless, stupefied. Why did he go? What did he mean? He stared at the ceiling, unable to see anything through the gray darkness, trying to find meaning in the angel's words. _Cas, what do you mean, you're sorry?_ He hoped to hear the sound of wings again, but he was disappointed. Had it all been just a dream? A dream created by excessive consumption of alcohol? In the gloom of the chamber even that seemed possible.

He got up, hesitating, not sure what he wanted to do. He scuffled throughout the room, nearly tumbling over the piles of clothes he hadn't put away properly.

When he reached the bathroom, he fished for the light switch. His eyes hurt at the sudden brightness.

The floor had been cleaned; there were no muddy traces. Dean sighed in despair. Was he becoming mad? He turned around to leave the room (he should really take those sleeping pills now, he thought), when something caught his eye. Beneath the heater, on the snow white floor, lay a single blue tie. Dean picked it up, pressed it to his chest and whispered hoarsely: "My friend."


End file.
